There is something Romantic and cool about driving with the windows down—the wind whipping through your hair, tunes blasting from the stereo.  It’s the definition of fun and frivolity.

Except when you have to do it every single day.  That’s been my life since my car’s air-conditioning conked out in late July while driving home from Dr. Fiancée’s place.

I took my car to my local shade tree mechanic, mainly because I could just walk home after dropping my car off with him.  I sometimes take my car to the stealership just for the convenience, but that convenience comes with a steep price tag (but, hey, I get terrible coffee for “free!”), so I figured I’d save a few bucks.

Well, after replacing the compressor—an expensive procedure, even with the shade tree pricing—my A/C continued to fail me.  Old Shady McTree soon found where Freon was leaking.  He replaced some o-rings in the new compressor and I had frosty air—for about a day.  The compressor was still under warranty, so my mechanic ordered another one.

Unfortunately, school began, so my free time to wait on my mechanic has ended (don’t get me wrong:  school is going really well; I just can’t sit around all day waiting for a new compressor to be installed).  I don’t think he shows up on the weekends, either, and he wasn’t working on Labor Day, so I’m just waiting for an opportune time for him to replace it.

If this new compressor fails, I’m going to ask him to return the compressor and to refund me for the part.  I don’t mind paying for his labor, but I just have a sinking feeling that the problem will remain unresolved.  I shouldn’t be so pessimistic, but it’s been such a hassle getting this thing fixed, I’m losing hope.

Fortunately, we’ve had some unseasonably cool weather in the mornings and evenings, which have made my commutes to and from work great.  It’s really nice driving with the windows down when the temperature is cool and the humidity is down.

What I did not realize, though, is how loud the Interstate is.  Driving around 45-55 MPH on the backroads is fine; whipping around massive trucks going 80 MPH is another matter.  After my most recent trip to Dr. Fiancée’s, I had a headache and muted hearing from enduring the decibels of the Interstate for three-plus hours.  It felt like I’d been to a really bad concert, consisting of whooshing wind noises playing full-blast right next to my ears.

There’s also a strange fatigue that sets in when driving that way for so long.  I start to get dehydrated, and I am breaking up trips with more frequent stops.  I usually make the drive to Dr. F’s in one fell swoop, but lately I’ve been stopping midway through to get a drink and to just get out of the car for a bit.  A three-hour drive starts to feel like a six-hour drive.

So, dear readers, pray for yours portly—and pray hard for air-conditioning.  The Indian summer will come eventually, and I’d like to be able to face it with cool, frosty, restorative A/C.  I’m a big guy, and I’m tired of being hot all the time.